tiredsville

Fred couldn’t help but to grin as he watched Shaggy laugh, pride and fondness lightly swirling at the loud sound. It was why he enjoyed smoking, after all; for a moment, no matter how short, everyone was allowed to just exist in the moment. And, sure, doing such was often his own motive, but smoking truly made being carefree much more authentic, even for him. “Eh,” he replied, smile still too wide even at the voiced disagreement. “Think it’s less of a medicine than it is a method, for you.  I mean, siren calling me in with weed…” He trailed off, jokingly shaking his head. “I was so innocent before I met you.” It wasn’t true. He’d been the one who had gone looking for the brunette, long ago, and his innocence had already been in shambles. Shaggy may have taught him the wonders of a smoke session, but Fred’s curiosity certainly played a key role in such. Though it was mid-summer, the concept of getting a snow machine was one that the blond wished he’d thought up ages ago. If their landlord wouldn’t let them be comfortable inside, then making the porch into a winter wonderland was their right. He handed back the vape while allowing the incoming high to guide his thoughts, leading him to a quick decision. “How much you wanna bet I can order one before it’s my turn to hit that again?” He asked, already placing the other’s phone down to grab his own. It was a quick search, and probably one that he should’ve given more attention, but when he went onto Amazon and found a five-star rated snow machine that could be delivered in a couple days… Well, the fine print didn’t matter much. The nonsensical bet didn’t matter much, either, but with no regards to whether Shaggy had beat him to the table, he outstretched his phone screen-forward proudly to show the confirmation page. All to the soundtrack of a piano rendition of Run Away With Me. “Santa’s coming early this year, Shags.”

Shaggy snorted, answering the ‘Eh’ and the smile that followed, wide and deep and honest in a way that only Freddy seemed to be. At least in this moment, in his current company, if it came down to Fred or the stars in the sky and the hot breeze carrying past him, it was Fred. “Medicine is a method,” he replied, barely sure of what he was saying though he tried his damnedest to stay keyed in. What mattered was the result, and the result was a beautiful blur of himself and his friends and his planet. He was sure that Fred understood that. “So innocent before you came asking how much for an eighth?” Shaggy chuckled, raising the box to his lips to hit it again. He wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge, or a race, or whatever they were calling this, so whether Fred rushed or not he was determined to do better. He reasoned with himself that it couldn’t be a partial pull, had to be a full hit or it didn’t count for the bet. “Bet you...” he wasn’t sure, chuckled instead. “I dunno, man, bet you whatever. Bet you the first burrito next time we grab ‘em.” A hard thing to part with if Fred succeeded, but worth it if he got a snow machine. He fit his lips around the vent and took a pull and... “Jesus christ.” He coughed a few times coming off of the end, squinting as he tried to see what a snow machine even looked like. “Dude, how much trouble are we in when this thing is going 24/7? Like. I’m ready, but how much?” His foot tapped along to the familiar tune. He didn’t notice.

“I have had the longest day,” Velma said with a sigh as they sat on the couch next to their friend. “Why did I take summer classes? Why did I think that would be a good idea?” They’d only had like two weeks off of school before the fall semester started and they were feeling it. “Why can’t I just half ass like one thing in my entire life?” they joked with a sigh.

@like-weirdo​

Shaggy looked up from his bowl of fruity pebbles with a little wave, frowning when Velma looked so much more exhausted than they had that morning. "Pretty sure it was so you'd be able to sprint on through your credits," he offered around a mouthful of cereal, crunching, then swallowing loudlyiozre how to help, offering up his bowl of cereal in a moment of panic. "Gotta slow down, my friend. Wanna chill here, go for a walk?"

“Just the way they are?” Though Fred could tell there was a bit more meaning behind the words, and could easily guess why, he asked the question in a joking tone. Motioning with his head in the direction of the currently held vape, his lips quirked up into a small smirk. “Could’ve fooled me, dude.” Though the feeling of the sweat damp shirt wasn’t ideal against the non-porous material of the chair, it was still a significant improvement from his previous situation. Besides, nights spent hanging out with Shaggy were always pleasant, even if he tended to miss out on them fairly often, due to partying. "Hear me out. What if we got a snow machine for the porch? Genius, or overkill?” Probably the latter, but the landlord had denied his requests to add central air to the complex. He even offered to pay for it himself, so the guy must’ve cared less about the money than he did their perpetual suffering. His toes stretched out before his feet settled comfortably into the nest of the other chair, accepting the box as it was handed over. “We can play holiday music, too. Make it a belated Christmas in July.” At that, he lifted the vape to his lips, drawing in a long pull. It felt warm as it settled in his chest, familiar in the sense smoking always is with the other guy, and when he blew it out, it was between grin-stretched lips. “You really want to give me that power? Because you know I’m on an Carly Rae Jepsen kick.” Without giving him time to deny his offer, however, Fred reached out and took the phone, typing in the already known passcode and queueing up his playlist of her piano covers. Nothing like elevator pop to get stoned to.

Shaggy took a second before he fully understood the irony, and absolutely guffawed, laughing loud and free about just how much disrepair he was probably putting his body in. He was, on the bright side, high enough not to give a damn, and excited enough to fly a little higher for it not to matter. “Y’know what, like, fuck you, my guy. It’s medicinal.” He chuckled again. “Like, spiritually, and junk.” He let himself think for a quick minute about the snow machine. And... did they do snow machines? Could someone just get a snow machine? Because if so he was very much willing to look into it. “Dude, if you c’n find one, it’s winter wonderland on this porch all summer long. I’m not gonna fight that one, not one bit.” Christmas in July didn’t sound half bad, and having a snowball fight or ten every day in July sounded even better. He tried to remember the words to his favorite Christmas song, or any Christmas song, or any song, while he watched Fred take a hit, long and easy, saw tendrils of smoke escape through a smile. He blinked. “Uh, yeah man,” catching back up and handing over his phone with no qualms. “Solid stuff, I’m into it. Don’t know about the neighbors but decent music is decent music, man.”

It was impossible to get comfortable, or so Fred thought. He’d purposefully been making nighttime plans, and suggesting well air-conditioned locations, knowing how long it took the new house to cool to an appropriate temperature. Until at least 1 AM, he’d been avoiding the place, but tonight hadn’t gone accordingly. Now, with the back of his tank top damp with sweat (where it’d been pressed into the bed), he clunked down the stairs, grace the first victim to the heat. Daphne had gone to bed early and Velma disappeared soon after, so he felt no shame in beelining towards the porch. Fred stepped barefoot onto the porch with a smile of his own, both due to the breeze that blew over him and the familiar face. “Hanging would suggest I’ve been able to chill, but my room’s practically a sauna right now.” A hot yoga studio also would have sufficed. Already feeling a bit better, he pulled the door closed and walked towards the chair he usually found himself in. It was a few feet away from the other guy, but angled in, and he pulled an extra chair closer to use as a foot rest. “How ‘bout you? Seems like you’ve got quite the setup out here.” He slid his hands into his pockets to twist his shorts back into proper place, much more comfortable while he settled into his own spot.

Shaggy chuckled easily, shaking his head as he glanced back down at the light on his box, waiting for the green for go. Not quite yet, he noted with an impatient huff, looking back up to Fred and noticing the damp patch on the back of his tank top as the blond got himself situated. “I feel ya, my guy,” Shaggy sighed, his smile supporting notes of a grimace. “I just gave up on it early, like, it’s too stuffy in there to breathe! And I like my lungs just the way they are, y’know what I mean?” Fred had seen the big bad shaky scene of Shaggy’s years strapped down, and he was a happy happy man now that he didn’t have to live a life of claustrophobia. That said, when the air was thick that was entirely too close, and he’d have been lying if he said that the vape hadn’t been a knee-jerk reaction to the resultant anxiety. He glanced back down and grinned at the green light fading in and out. “Yeah, I mean,” he gestured vaguely. “If I’m out here to be comfortable I wanna do it right!” As he inhaled, slow and deep, lips formed around the mouth of the vape, he nodded towards his phone, The Doors’ self titled album playing softly from its speaker. “You can DJ after this song if you’re joinin’ me though, Fredster,” he offered, shaking curls out of his face as he held the vape box out to his companion.

The nights were easy enough since the gang had moved in together, but they had been hot for the past week or so as well, which meant more nights than not had found Shaggy lying on the floor of the living room beneath one of the vents or waiting to catch a breeze out on the front porch, a citronella candle in a wide bowl base burning where it sat on a wooden stool by the chair he’d claimed. Tonight saw the latter, Shaggy in a thrifted pair of drawstring shorts, music playing from his phone where it balanced on the windowsill as his vape heated up. He didn’t hear the door so much as he saw the light shift on the floor, and when he sat up in his chair, an easy smile found his face. “Freddy, my man, how’s it hangin’?”

There is no bad way to eat corn on the cob, my bud. And some of the best methods might surprise ya.

send any question you like to any of my characters. they have to answer honestly, no matter what.

Wilbur ran into the shop, quickly closing the door behind him and dropping into a crouching position below the window. “Psst, hey.” He whispered, waving to get the other person’s attention. “Hi. Quick favor, if you’d be so kind, um, just look out that window and let me know if a large, grumpy looking, greasy dude? And if so, what direction is his attention currently directed?”

Shaggy half snorted, looking up from the incense he’d been sniffing and glancing out the shop window. “Uhh...” Grumpy greasy dudes weren’t exactly hard to come by, and he’d have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t intrigued by this development. He was high half to hell and reeling from that alone, but this was new, a little spooky but more amusing than anything unless he spotted a real creeper. “What’d you steal?” he laughed. “Or, like, do? What-- you got a dude after you, I’m, like, gonna need some more deets.”

“Hmm.” Wirt squinted his eyes at the piece of paper he held up before him. On it was a temporary design for the banner that needed to be made for his students, however— “Nothing!” The man remarked, as he released a sigh of discontent. “There is nothing artistic about this!” Wirt released his hold against the paper by placing it back against the counter. He reached for his coffee right after. “Why did I not agree to letting my students handle in designing this banner? Surely with how creatively inclined most of them are, at least one of them would’ve came up with something better than this.” 

Shaggy squinted, looking over the design fondly, confused more by the outburst the longer he took in the sight of it. “Like, I think it looks great, man,” he pointed out, shrugging a little bit. “You should totally make, like, a quilt if you’re wiggin’ out about it, though. Have everybody do a little part of it and you’re sailing free, then you don’t have to worry about the vision of the whole thing or whatever it is that’s buggin’ ya.” He always asked everybody to chip in when he was getting overwhelmed, which happened a whole lot more than he cared to admit. “What’s it for anyway?”

@like-weirdo​

Branch tolerated a lot. For a man who owned a sporting goods store he sure encountered a lot of people who knew jack shit about what they wanted. Most people that came in had an understanding or knew what they wanted. Then there were fuckheads who couldn’t tell the difference from a casting rod to a spinning rod. Branch thought people like that shouldn’t be fishing. The kid standing in front of him was going on and on about something and Branch honestly didn’t even know if it was relevant at this point anymore but he’d lost his cool. “Are you going to stand here and talk my ear off about irrelevant bullshit or do you want to see the tents?”

Shaggy had definitely come into the store for a reason, he was sure of it. He’d marched in with a purpose, but then there had been some fun colored golf balls and the squishy things that went on the ends of fish hooks or something, he was pretty sure. One of them looked like a blue raspberry shark gummy, and Shaggy blamed that one for the rest of them looking so darn tasty; he’d had lunch but that was a little over an hour ago now. He was explaining all of this to the guy working the floor when he was stopped, and he didn’t quite know how the gummy bait was irrelevant, but the man stopped all the same. “Wait-- you dudes have tents?” he scoffed. “Uh, yeah I want to see them!”

@like-weirdo​

This was a bad idea. This was a really, really, bad idea. Daphne and Shaggy were two humans capable of anything….but this? Probably not at three am. And yet their tired brains thought it was the best time to try and make cookies and when they almost had a small fire due to leaving them in the oven too long, they should have stopped there. Instead, a second batch was being worked on. “We are so gonna get this one right….” Daph mumbled as she stirred together the cookie batter.

send  🍪  for  our  muses  to  bake  cookies  for  santa  together .

“Maybe if we just set another timer,” Shaggy murmured, looking at the carnage on his hands. Was the batter supposed to be this wet and sticky? He’d made cookies before, but not cookies like these; these were monstrosities, but he was so excited for them, chock full of M&Ms and mini peanut butter cups and toffee. Kind of looked like pancake batter, though, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to make thick pancake batter into cookies. “Hey, Daph, can you throw some flour in here?” he asked, nodding over his shoulder towards the table where half of their ingredients now lied. His hands rested over the goop in the bowl, wrists along the rim, and he was glad he was doing laundry soon, because this had turned into a mess. 

Dale liked this party so far. He lost sight of his sister a long time ago, but that was okay. He could gravitate towards the food and drinks and find comfort in them at his own pace. And he sure did go to town when he did. He had a few drinks, a lot of appetizers, and now he was just enjoying the lights in the room, laughing heartily at the guy next to him. “Friendo. Rando,” he said appreciatively. He had no idea what he was talking about, but he wanted to sound cool next to him because he sounded so cool on his own. “This food is the fuckin’ best. I could eat another five plates and feel nothing. Shit. I mean. If I drank a bit in-between. Cleanse the palette and all.”

Shaggy would have taken the time to figure out what rando was supposed to mean, but on the off chance that they were both just there and having a damn good time, he figured the best thing to do was just enjoy it in tandem, enjoy the food in tandem. He watched the other grab a bite and smiled at the reckless abandon with which he was enjoying the food - definitely something he could get behind. “That’s pretty damn impressive, five plates,” he mused, looking around them with a little laugh. “I’m sure we can locate the drinks no problem, right? Something hard, yeah? We’ll grab ‘em, like, what’s your poison man?”